Chapter Three
by Bovineorbitor1
Summary: Mamori joins up with the village's resident demon, and Hiruma waits for the fairytale formula to play itself out. Retelling of Disney's version of Beauty and the Beast, obviously Hirumamo
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Eyeshield 21 or Beauty and the Beast, nor, unfortunately, do I own Hiruma.

1

Once upon a time there was a girl.

(In fact, if you want to be technical about it, upon many onces, in several times, there were innumerable girls. Each is special in her own way, but the special status of this girl is at least partially that she is the one this story is about.)

The girl lived a small, ordinary life in a small, ordinary, terribly provincial village. Paint dried slowly, and daisies bloomed slowly, and very little else went on.

As those familiar with fairy tales know, destiny is seldom content to leave such people be.

(So much for tempting fate.)

(This is an account of the Beauty and the Beast.)

1

Mamori hummed as she strode along the dusty road, book tucked securely under one arm. Above her, the vivid blue sky had fallen straight out of a novel, the clouds thin white footnotes, the geese in their rigid formations the prose beside the poetry. Her feet wanted to skip, though her head told her that at eighteen she was far too old for such foolishness.

The street was full of the most bustling kind of activity, and filled with the most bustling kind of activists - the merchants, the tradesmen - who were also technically merchants but dressed less finely, therefore having a lesser title - and the mothers. The latter were, against all reason, the busiest of the lot, for they tended to come out in force on Saturdays.

Mamori paused to observe one at work as she set about smiling at eligible young men with wares to display - my, what an impressive set of candles you're selling…I have a daughter about your age…candlelight is so romantic, don't you think, dear? – and couldn't quite contain a slightly guilty giggle. She sympathised, for she herself had the deplorable habit of inspecting young women of Sena's age with an eye which keenly evaluated their prospects, intelligence and manners, and probably also ranked them in order. More than once she'd found herself giving them grades out of ten. It was almost certainly a betrayal of her gender, never mind the silent promise she'd made to let him take his own road in life.

Mostly harmless, she thought. Just a habit.

Today, though, worry over difficult things like the future – even the future of her very worrying little brother -was difficult, because it was the fiction which had her attention. Her head, if not her nose, was still in her book.

"Watch out, Miss Anezaki!" said one tradesman warningly. "Don't go walking into my stall, now."

She replied laughingly, and danced – that is, progressed steadily and sensibly - on her way.

"Where're you heading, Miss?" The tradesman called.

"Library!" Mamori called back. It should have been embarrassing that her voice came in chorus with similar answers from villagers who knew her well, but she found herself not giving the slightly less moderate version of a darn.

1

"Welcome back, Mamori," said the librarian, an elderly but cheerful force of nature, who seemed to have chosen his profession purely for the thrill of navigating the sliding ladders which lay alongside the shelves.

"Good day, sir," she replied, removing her book from under her arm. "I'd like to renew this, please."

"Again?" The librarian chucked, taking it and inspecting the scrappy cover. "You must have memorised it by now, a clever girl like you."

It was true enough, and Mamori was too comfortable in this environment to deny it.

"I suppose so," she said. "But I enjoy reading it even though I know what happens. It's so beautiful."

"Reading a good familiar book can be like coming home," her friend agreed. He eyed her expression over the cover. "And so…does Miss Anezaki have an objection to her real home?"

Mamori jumped guiltily. "Huh?"

"Forget I mentioned anything." The wrinkles around his eyes deepened substantially. "One's mind tends to wander when one gets old. And if you like the book so much,"

He tossed it lightly towards her, "Keep it. Lord knows no-one else around here has any use for intellectual epics."

"Thank you so much," Mamori said sincerely. "Although," she added, in response to the old man's continuing quizzical look, "I'm not sure I'd like an epic so much if it happened to me."

"Sensible girl," he laughed. "Still, you never know."

"Please," she said, with mock severity, "Don't tempt fate, sir."

1

Sena, that hapless charge of the formidable Mamori, was lost. This was by no means as common as that motherly protector was wont to believe, nor was the boy as incapable of dealing with such small difficulties as she fondly supposed. However, on this occasion, the geography in which he was lost was troubling. It seemed to harbour, among other things, rather large bats, and quite a few indefinable creepy crawlies. It had something of an aura.

"Ack!" the young man declared expressively, backing the sentiment up with an "Oh dear!" immediately succeeded by: "Umm…"

Exactly how he had reached this unknown location was uncertain. He recalled running into a trio of large not-precisely-gentlemen - as Mamori tended to refer to thugs in front of him, just in case the word alone would cause her sibling to run for the hills – on his way home from the market. He quite vividly remembered their threatening posture and doubly threatening expressions after he had accidentally splattered his purchases on them, and then the desperate flight to which his heels had taken him obscured the rest. And here he was.

Oh dear.

Something ominous howled not far behind him.

Sena took the sensible route, which was the one going in the opposite direction to the ominous howling. He pounded through the forest along a winding road which darkened as he went and served to warn him that things were not improving. On the other hand, there were wolves behind him.

Sena decided that he didn't care very much for the devil he knew.

As for the one which he wasn't aware of, that loomed before him as he broke out of the undergrowth to come face to bar with an enormous, gothic iron gate. He pushed on it desperately.

"Ack! Please open, plea-"

"Hey, damn brat!"

A voice from on high rapped down, harmonics in the tone transferring some rigidity to his backbone. He stiffened, torn between terror and hope. "Yes?"

"The gate pulls open."

The small part of him not marinated in panic wilted with mortification, but it was neither substantial nor foolish enough to stop him yanking the gate open and hurling his small, trembling body inside.

A dark form stepped over him and snapped the bolt home, just in case the wolves were more intuitive about operating darkly gothic portals than Sena was. He rose shakily to his knees as the figure turned to him.

"Thank you so mu- Ack!"

1

"I wonder where Sena is…" Mamori mused, and then slapped herself internally for worrying over him. There was little enough trouble he could get into at the market, and he did so like to be useful. As far the journey there and back again, unless he deviated from the beaten track – and there was no reason why he should - he was perfectly safe. Sena had never been much of an adventurer, and he was probably as nervous for himself as Mamori was for him.

Part of the reason for that nervousness, she thought, was their unfortunate location. The forest surrounding the village was a wild and dangerous place, something less pleasantly fairytale-esque. And there were the rumours, which she never listened to and didn't believe, but which had still managed to cast a shadow of an impression of foreboding –

"Why so troubled, Miss?"

She looked up into the evenly tanned, handsome face of one Kongo Agon, complete with charming smile and somewhat out of place sunglasses, and was not fooled.

"I'm sorry, I was just daydreaming," she replied politely, flashing him a civility smile. It broadened when she spied Ikkyu, who was peering out from behind Agon's bulk with the embarrassed intensity of an extremely reluctant bachelor.

"Hello and good morning, Mr Ikkyu. How are you?"

This was encouragement enough to draw him out from Agon's shadow, which was evidently where that paragon preferred him. The larger man grunted irritably and swung on his heel, departing with the briskness which had earned the title 'Godspeed' from the more imaginative villagers.

"Woo!" Ikkyu was distracted enough to forget that he was in the presence of a beautiful young lady and in doing so regain some aspects of his personality – "Agon doesn't look happy. I guess he doesn't appreciate me cutting him out." He gave this some thought. "Oh, crap."

Mamori restrained a frown. "I don't think he can object to you saying good morning to me, Mr Ikkyu."

"You don't?" she received an incredulous look. "Ah… its Agon, you know?"

"Hmm," she said, tone severe. Ikkyu shrugged expressively. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Miss Mamori, but I'd better be going."

"Bye," she said, watching him reluctantly trail away with amused sympathy. She stood for a few seconds even after he was out of sight, shook her head, and went on her way.

So her morning went, with neither action nor much in the way of anxiety, and if Mamori was completely honest with herself, she would admit that her home could have done with just a flavour of something that was not quite so…so determinedly provincial.

1

"Huh," said Agon descriptively, glancing up at the line of geese trailing across the sky with a professional's eye. He levelled the gun.

"Beautiful but stubborn, hmm?" He laughed. "Never mind, little Miss Anazaki shouldn't be too hard to - " One of the birds jolted and toppled, caught neatly in Ikkyu's outstretched bag. "Crack."

Ikkyu pulled a face at Agon's newest kill, and Agon smacked him lightly around the back of the head.

"What? You doubt it?"

"Of course not, Agon," he said gloomily. The geese overhead shrieked agreement.

1

Evening came with no more action, considerably more anxiety, but no trace of Sena, and Mamori reverted to her previously held opinion – the provincial was preferable. Sena _never_ stayed out this long. She'd gone to the constable, who'd laughed and said something about boys being boys, some ridiculous saying which didn't apply to Sena in the slightest. He wasn't a boy, he was her little brother who came with dormouse impression included, and would not dream of lingering this long outside.

He knew how she worried.

She slung on her coat as though she had a grudge against it, and stepped out in the direction of the market path purposefully. It was deserted when she reached it.

"Sena? _Sena!_"

The echoes of her voice were the only return for her investment even after half an hour of diligent calling; no apologetic little brother had materialised with a series of lame excuses set to roll from his tongue– lost track of the time, got kidnapped by pirates…

She was at a loss, but she trudged on doggedly. Perhaps she should try somewhere else – go around searching out the houses of his friends…

The way her line of thought trailed off was a sad comment on Sena.

"Se-_na!_"

Mamori stopped for breath, and with fairytale style fortune caught sight of the ragged state of the little hedges fringing the path, and the footprints beyond them – footprints about the right size for the feet of a small sixteen year old boy, heading straight for the darkest part of a forest characterised by darkness.

"Oh, no!"

Mamori was a sensible girl. This, unfortunately, translated immediately to sensibility whenever Sena was involved, which meant that while she retained the presence of mind to go for help, that help consisted of her horse and whoever she happened upon on her way home.

"Into the forest? _That_ kid? He's already dead!"

"Someone go get a copper! He'll need rescuing for sure!"

"Hey, Miss, you can't go on your own. Wait for the men. Hey!"

"Miss!"

1

"This is really very kind of you…" Sena said, natural kindness warring with a hard to quell nervousness.

"Don't mention it, damn brat. Just get going." The master of the gothic iron gate, in addition to the gothic stone castle and the surprisingly normal carriage, tapped the door of the latter meaningfully. "It'll find its own way home."

"And you're sure the wolves don't go this way?" Sena was worried about this. He wasn't sure that wild animals respected public highways. His rescuer rolled his eyes in answer and walked over to the horse. "Oi, Tetsuma. Get this damn brat back to where he came from – that's Ye Olde Provincial Village, just outside the forest. If you meet any wolves, kick their skulls in. Got it?"

Tetsuma the horse whinnied in answer. Sena gulped, and got in. The carriage swept off inexorably, and something in its pace made Sena very sorry indeed for any wolves who happened to try anything.

In fact, his pity was wasted, because they made it to the village without any incident, and in remarkably short time. He patted the horse gingerly on the neck – "Er…_Good _horsey," – and flinched back when it shook its head, snorting. This was clearly a formidable beast, perfectly fitting to its home environment. The prompt way it turned itself round and trotted back that way implied that it agreed.

Sena shook himself, as one sometimes does after waking from a dream, and went towards _his_ home with rather more hesitation. He couldn't image how he would explain this to Mamori.

The door to their cottage swung open with a sound that was less an ominous creak than an outraged squeal; Sena tried to remember where one got new hinges. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Between a dark inhabitant of blackest night and an overwrought Mamori, he felt, there was probably a tie. It seemed unfair to make him face both in one day.

The house felt empty. The door banged off the wall. He lost his deep breath without noticing its departure.

"Mamori?"

1

Hooves thundered. Wolves cowered. Castle gates banged open.

"_What have you done to Sena?" _

111

AN: First time in this Fandom and I kick it off with a massive AU. I hope I can get away with it. *Crosses fingers*

I'm rusty using this kind of humorous style and I'm afraid it came across rather pretentious, so please comment on anything which is off or obsure. This story will only be following B&B (Disney version) loosely, so it should be okay even if you haven't watched it for eons. R and R please.


	2. Contract

Disclaimer: I own Eyeshield 21, just as I own the moon and too much chocolate.

(Clue, there is no such thing as too much chocolate)

1

Hiruma Yoichi was not a man who often found scenery distracting, and the view from the road wouldn't have inspired even the most romantic of passers by. Its sole contents were the bordering trees, the distant sky and the dusty track which rolled on past the horizon.

He stood for too long anyway, narrowed eyes pursuing the distance, before shaking his head, shaking it off, and turning back the way he'd come.

Perhaps he should have kept the boy here a little longer. It was uncertain what kind of bait he would have made, but from the babbling explanation he had received, Sena was some kind of village insider-outsider, tolerated but not highly valued. There was a 74% chance that the only benefit he'd get for hanging on to this damn brat _was _this damn brat.

Just his ****ing luck, the first catch he'd made in years turning out to be somewhere between too damn useless and too damn _noisy_. Better to throw him back and keep a favour owed, just in case he ever needed a shrimp with a life debt.

Speaking of noisy…

_Bam! _

…someone with a hell of a lot more umph than the damn brat appeared to have had just busted through his gates, and by the angry sound of that approach, was all set on busting through him.

"Kekeke, what have we here?" Hiruma cocked his head to one side and examined his newest visitor with considerable interest, until she came to rocking halt before him and opened her mouth, expression furious.

_Blue eyes, brownish hair, medium height. Bust size – ha. Got a horse but not a good one, probably late teens to early twenties, plain clothing. Pissed._

_60% chance she's the damn brat's older sister, extrapolated from clothing, age, attitude and the fact that their ears are the same shape._

"What have you done to Sena_?_" she snapped. The aggression seemed to leave no room for either fear or common courtesy, although maybe the absolute darkness helped with the former. While many people were afraid of the dark, most of them still preferred it to _him_.

Hiruma grinned.

"Who? Oh, you mean that pipsqueak that the wolves took for lunch?"

She paled, but didn't quite take a step back. "Wha…what? Is he…?"

Hiruma just smirked – invisibly - and turned away.

_Hook._

She came stumbling after. "Hey! Hey! Is he hurt?"

"What makes you think that I know, damn woman?"

Even without looking he could sense the sudden speechlessness and the way it slowly ignited to burning indignation, and one glance showed him that her hair was practically on end with fury.

"You mean to say that…that Sena – that my brother came past here being chased by wolves…and you just _let it happen_?"

"No." He let her flicker to relief. "He's in the dungeon."

_Line. _

"What?" Her voice was hushed now with horror. He was impressed by her adaptability – screech to fear to anger to relief to whatever husky terror was currently gnawing at her soul – "Why?"

"Trespassing."

Technically true, as well, due to the overbearing hospitality of his two damn attendants. After Kurita had clumped out and seen the bedraggled specimen of humanity who'd tripped into their backyard there was no getting rid of him, not without inviting him in for ****ing cocoa or whatever it was that kids drank these days. Admittedly, Sena's face when he saw the walking talking vision which was Kurita's current form had been priceless, or as close to priceless as it was possible to get, and Hiruma had wished that there was some kind of device for recording images like that.

Maybe he'd invent one.

Anyway, it had seemed like a good moment for asking the pipsqueak whether he had anyone at home to come for him, which had prompted the oddly doubtful expression that had been the clincher for letting him go. He must have misinterpreted it – all this time since he'd last seen real expressions on real human faces, he'd clearly got rusty. Dammit. Unless the brat had been worrying about whether this woman would be able to venture the forest for him, which was a stupid thought. Even if she wouldn't herself – which she clearly would – she'd be able to manage someone else to do the work for her. She was obviously a born manager.

****ing manager.

She managed to inflate even further, presumably for purposes of intimidation. This woman reminded him of an irate cat without the expansionary aid of fur, and quite possibly sans claws.

"Let him go."

"Oh? Why would I do that?" The smirk ate into his voice, giving it bite – "Do you think anyone would miss either of you?"

"Yes, actually," and he was grateful for the dark, hiding triumph which probably wouldn't show up anyway – "I know several people who would almost certainly come if I asked them too, or if I went missing."

"Why didn't you bring them, then?" It sounded promising because it sounded unwavering, and he didn't think she'd have that quality in a bluff. Still, it never hurt to check.

"I…" Here she wavered, but he thought it was shame rather than the stumbles of a newly born lie. "I didn't have time to wait for them. Let him go."

"No."

She gasped a little. Out of ideas, manager?

"Then I'll go…and fetch someone to_ make_ you let him go. You have no reason to keep him here."

"You haven't given me a reason to let him go, either." He turned and loomed at her, making full use of shadow and silence, a devil's toolbox. She didn't quite flinch back, but he could see her – better than she could see him – and he saw the effort that took, as well as the sudden rise of sweat. "So you intend to go and leave your pipsqueak in my wicked clutches…do you? Kekeke, the fun begins already!"

He turned and half ran towards the castle, every step expressing his eagerness to reach her little brother and conduct increasingly evil experiments on him, possibly resulting in death or insanity or even soup.

"Wait!" she yelled.

_Sinker. _

"Take me instead," and - "Let him go."

She spoke the cliché as though it was an original, fear and self-sacrifice running undercurrents to the confidence in her voice. She trembled a little. He told himself – truthfully - that it wouldn't kill her.

"You swear to remain here until such a time as I release you?" One hand lurked behind his back as he spoke, conjuring the magic required to make her commitment binding. The spare pointed imperiously at her very resolute nose. Her eyes tried to focus on his finger in the dark, then narrowed.

"Step into the light."

It was spoken like an offence, an attack. Perhaps she thought he would evaporate if he complied, although this would be a singularly ridiculous method of assassination. More likely she was just the kind that liked to look into the eyes of the people they were bossing.

He didn't mind.

The faint pool of moonlight rested on the floor between them, she already occupying it as though it belonged to her, he clinging to the shadows in a close parallel, but casually, indifferent, he invaded her territory, and heard her gasp.

1

He was not much taller than her. It was the only thing she'd been able to see for sure before he'd stepped out. Aside from that, she couldn't see many points for comparison, it being in any case a dangerous thing to try and compare oneself with a devil - although she anticipated little chance of any sympathy growing.

Demonic was the word. He had fangs, and very pointy ears, and his face was harsh and angular. He managed to loom without the advantage of height. She felt the pricklings of fear, and immediately resolved to say something, anything, to hide it. She had to be strong for Sena. She swallowed.

"I promise," she said.

"Done," said he. And grinned.

1

AN: Ya ha.

Actually, this is a very lazy chapter. Nothing really happened. Mamori used a lot of italics. Hiruma was planning something and gambling with no cards in his hand - although that doesn't count as action since it's his base state of being. They argued. Yeah. Nevermind. A deal with the devil counts, right?

Thanks for the reviews. Sorry for any poor/rushed quality here, but I felt I'd left this on the shelf too long.


	3. Chapter 2 ,5

Mamori felt a sense of impending doom.

In fact, as she was already in the middle of something that very much resembled doom, it was possible that the fates had run out of their supply and had to call out for more. If this were the case then she would no doubt experience a short delay, for which they would be very sorry, and then a sudden sharp decline into unimaginable depths of misery.

The demonic being opposite her cocked an amused eyebrow, as though he could see what she was thinking, and immediately she steeled herself. Whatever it was that was going to happen, at least it would happen to her and not to Sena. She could endure anything this thing was to throw at her if it meant that she was fulfilling her duty as protector, a state which was like solid ground in unsteady times to her.

Having braced herself in body and mind for combat, it was therefore a shock and an anticlimax to watch him casually turn his back on her and beckon for her to follow, strolling back towards the entrance of his unnecessarily spiky castle with no consideration whatsoever for her mental turmoil. Despite having been honestly terrified, she was almost indignant at so abrupt a diffusion of tension.

Sensing her hesitation, he glanced back once and gestured more impatiently, long thin fingers snapping through the cold air. Still smarting from the absence of her battle royal, still seething over having her world spun negligently on one of those fingers, she continued to wait for several defiant seconds, but, sensible side telling her sadly that she had no other option but to go after him, she threw her shoulders back and her chin up and proceeded in his wake.

He snapped his fingers again for the opening of his doors, and they bowed out, groaning softly. She tilted her chin still higher. Darkness crowded to the very edge of the light, rising in a thick tide past the threshold and entirely obscuring the interior of the building. Stepping into that made her heart beat hard and her skin prickle; her thoughts flew to cliffs, holes with spikes in them, unfathomably deep pools. She had to almost jump through, or she would never have got through at all.

She couldn't quite suppress a cry when, as both her feet landed safely on the very solid floor beyond, something from that vicinity made a loud sound like _oomph_. Her companion paused from receding into the shadows to look back at her and laugh as she stared downwards, mystified and not a little horrified.

"Too dark for you, Miss Manager?" he asked, his voice injected with a mock politeness that made her blood boil and caused the chill which had so recently established itself to evacuate post haste.

"Just a little," she said, ladling a compound of hauteur and venom into her own voice and setting it up against his, attitude for attitude. She was angry enough not to gasp when light suddenly flared before her eyes with no apparent source, but not quite angry enough to forget her bemusement. She looked down.

The welcome mat looked back at her politely. She squeaked in an undignified fashion and hopped off its face, for which it looked thankful.

"Just Ishimaru," said her captor dismissively. "Kekeke, you squeak like a mouse, Miss Manager."

"It's okay, really," said the doormat reassuringly.

"I'm terribly sorry," she managed, opting to ignore her captor in favour of making amends with his furnishings. But she was beginning to seriously resent being called that name.

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

The demon opposite her cackled again. "F-ing Nobody doesn't mind seeing up your skirt, you know. You can stop apologising."

The blood rushed to Mamori's head. A good portion was expended on a blush, but a separate division set to work turning her vision red and she found that this helped. She was too angry to be afraid of him.

"You are so rude! Don't you have any idea what manners are? Chivalry? Common courtesy? _Basic decency_?"

He gave her a look that was almost wondering. "You really do mind the details, don't you ..? F-ing Manager."

"_Don't call me_ - " It occurred to her that she was in fact neglecting one sweeping stroke in the bigger picture - "Why do you have a talking doormat?"

He just cackled again. "Better, F-ing manager. Better."

And with that he continued on, and she was forced to follow him. Right, she thought grimly. She was going to wipe that pointy smirk off his face, come hell or high water.

It was still quite dark in there, although there was, rather unsettlingly, a small sphere of fire bobbing companionably alongside her face, a reminder of magic almost as potent as the talking doormat. She could just about make out dim greyish shapes; doors which were mostly shut, staircases unravelling upwards in impressively huge and twisty spirals, columns and grotesque statues dotted about wherever most likely to cause toe-stubbing. All of it gave an impression of grim griminess which she supposed suited the inhabitant but seemed rather sad to her; what might have been grand and impressive – if a little daunting – neglected and let go to waste. His character seemed blacker by association.

"It's terribly dirty," she told him, on the off chance that she might score a point on his pride. He just glanced over one shoulder, regarded her with a careless eye, and declared, "F-ing manager," with the air of one confirming a hypothesis. She came to the conclusion that, whatever the state of his pride, he was completely without shame. Her own hypothesis was confirmed by the rest of the day and in fact most of their future association; it was to be one of the most enduring of her initial impressions. This she was not yet to know and her chief interest in their future association was the hope that it would be short and would not involve her being eaten, experimented on, tortured, murdered or forced to endure much of his company, not necessarily in that order. She asked leading questions such as 'what do you want with me', and 'have you let Sena go?' and 'when they come to rescue me, what will you do _then_?'

None of them led anywhere. They either received flip answers, or none at all.

"Where are you taking me?" She tried eventually. It seemed like a priority but was mild enough to warrant a straight answer. Probably. She stared at the back of his head and imagined the wickedness contained within. Possibly.

"Supper," he said, and any evil intent in this answer was kept admirably from his tone. Her stomach seemed to cramp nonetheless. "You're probably hungry after your journey here."

"Oh," she said. She took refuge in sarcasm. "Thank you for your concern."

"Don't want you passing out with hunger on my nasty dirty floor," he said, looking her up and down in a way she found extremely objectionable. "You look hard to shift. Want to watch those hips."

Slapping him would be unladylike and probably very dangerous, but her hand, less concerned with self preservation than her head, tingled strongly. "Thank you," she said through numb lips. "In that case, I'm not hungry."

He shrugged bony shoulders. "Suit yourself, F-ing manager. But no midnight snacking if you change your mind."

Sarcasm having proved a flimsy defence, she took refuge in silence. Tomorrow, she told herself. I'll give as good – or as bad – as I get, tomorrow. She realised she was both starving and exhausted, drained from the tides of activity and emotion which had steered her here, and apparently sucked her into a whirlpool. It left little room for anything else.

"What now?" she said. The question felt like surrender, but if he noticed his victory he didn't acknowledge it.

"Your room will be up here," he said, and led her back to one of the spiralling stairs; led her up it, Mamori dragging her feet leadenly, then along to one of the rooms.

"Stay in here," he told her, and shut the door. She had barely enough time to feel relief at being left alone in what did not seem to be a dungeon before she collapsed across the bed, too proud and too tired to indulge in tears.

She dropped painlessly into sleep.

1

She woke with a crick in her neck and the spirit of adventure blossoming in her breast. There was a large window facing outwards and she could see that it was still dark, but the squirm of hunger in her stomach had developed and the forbidden midnight snacking now seemed very appealing.

She was still dressed in her old clothes, though they were now considerably less neat. She wondered if she'd be stuck in them until the villagers came to get her. Surely not. Perhaps she'd be able to scrounge up something which she could adapt to her purposes.

There was a heavy old wardrobe in the corner of the room, and this she approached with more hope than conviction. If it were empty, she supposed she could always make use of the bedclothes or, at a pinch, the curtains, which were gauzy affairs not congruent with the setting. But the doors parted to reveal an internal world of colour and texture; racks of dresses with rainbow forbears; lavender scented drawers containing wraps as gauzy as the curtains, petticoats and even an apron; shelves piled high with cloaks and other more practical essentials. She took a few steps back and goggled. Either the castle had had a very flamboyant female inhabitant before her, or this was some quite impressive magic.

"Anything you like?" asked the wardrobe diffidently. Mamori jumped violently, but at the back of her mind something was not surprised. Magic, then. Lots and lots of magic. Mamori was fairly comfortable with such things, being well read and interested in the world around her, but she knew many of the villagers would be terrified of this place.

"Yes, thank you. They're beautiful," she said. The wardrobe seemed gratified. Its hinges creaked approvingly.

"Well, that's good," it said. "I didn't like to interrupt when you came in. You looked a little tired. I'm Julie, by the way."

"Hello," said Mamori, feeling somewhat silly. "I'm Anezaki Mamori. Nice to meet you." She meant it genuinely. Her captor's furniture seemed much more civilised than he was.

"Welcome to the Castle." Mamori wasn't sure how a wardrobe could smile, but Julie had obviously discovered the knack. There was definitely a face on her front which hadn't been there as Mamori approached. "Um…if you don't mind me asking, how did you come here? We don't get many – well, any – visitors. We're not exactly on the scenic route."

"I came to rescue my brother, who was being held here," said Mamori, as levelly as she could manage. "I made a deal exchanging myself for him. I intend to be rescued quite soon," she added, with some severity. She had never anticipated being the damsel in distress, and resented it.

"Oh dear," said the Wardrobe. Her shelves rattled nervously. "I wonder what Hiruma's up to. I can't think…"

"Hiruma?" asked Mamori. "Is that his name?"

"The Master? Yes." Inexplicably – in both cause and method - Julie looked more cheerful. "Well, Hiruma's plans normally work, so I suppose... Oh, are you hungry?"

Mamori's stomach, impatient of conversation, had complained loudly. Its owner sighed. She couldn't imagine ever being comfortable within a mile of this Hiruma, whatever his plans might be and most especially if they were likely to work, but then probably the members of his household were prejudiced in his favour. In any case, continuing to rummage for information - and clothes - from this source could wait until after she had eaten.

"Yes, actually," she said. "Is there anywhere I could find some food?"

"The kitchens are just downstairs, third room to the left. I'm sure they'll be happy to provide."

"Thank you," she said. The door was not locked and she slipped out as stealthily as she could manage, tiptoeing down dusty steps and wincing at the echoes. It was harder to see without the attendant floating light and once or twice she almost tripped over her rumpled skirts, but she got to the last step without disaster or detection and grinned a small grin of triumph. Getting to the kitchens was much easier. There was a faint light still escaping from the gaps around the third door to the left. She placed one hand on the handle, gathered her courage, and entered.

1

Ah. Bliss.

Whatever Mamori had been expecting to encounter on the other side of the doors, she wouldn't have expected it to have that word attached. On the other hand, she hadn't dared hope for creampuffs.

All right, her first feeling upon entry was a powerful regret that she had disobeyed her own personal demon jailor, a lapse into submission which she now regretted, but row upon row of shiny, staring cutlery could do that to a person. The ambulatory stove had been slightly alarming, too. She had picked up a trend in the supposedly inanimate objects of the castle, but hadn't realised it went that far.

Kurita – for that was Mr Mobile cooker's handle – was thoroughly reassuring. Though huge and prone to turn burning red when agitated, the stove was obviously wrapped around the soul of a teddy-bear. Something about his nervous burbling upon her entrance had entirely robbed her of the ability to fear him.

"Hi, hello. Um. Er. Can we help you? How are you doing? Would you like something to eat?"

He had sounded so desperate to please that Mamori had felt even less reluctant to appease her growling stomach and plunder her captor's reserves.

"_Yes, please," she said, dismissing the feeling of surrealism. The stove beamed and bounced over the kitchen floor, issuing orders and delighted smoke in equal proportions. She followed, feeling conflicted between her amused appreciation and the abiding well of misery hiding under her ribs and dampening all her other feelings. _

_The former briefly got the upper hand as she took in the spread the stove was choreographing onto the table. It seemed incredible that so much food could be collected in one place. Underneath it, plates' eyes watched for her reaction hopefully. The stove looked at her with even greater eagerness and terror. _

"_Wow," she said. This was wildly inadequate, but they ate it up. It would have been ungrateful not to do likewise. _

Briefly the thought _fattening me up_ had passed through her mind, but the occupants of the kitchen were all so amicable, Kurita particularly, that imagining them involved in anything of the sort seemed ridiculous. Hiruma was probably a cruel overlord and the only malignant force in the place, with the others restoring balance by being extremely nice. Perhaps they all needed rescuing too.

Think of the devil…

"Hiruma will probably be down soon, Miss Mamori," Kurita said cheerfully. "Would you like to wait for him?"

She had to restrain the urge to leap up from the table. "Hiruma?"

"Yes, he's normally down about now."

She wanted to leave, but curiosity buzzed briefly in her priorities. "Isn't he more of a … night person?"

"Hmm? Oh, not really. So would you like to – oh. Oh, are you leaving?"

"Yes. Sorry. Er…I just remembered I left…something - somewhere… and, and I'd better…go see to it right now…butthankyouforthefoodandI'lltrytocomebacksoon – um. Bye."

Kurita looked as puzzled as an anthropomorphic cooking implement is capable of looking. Mamori escaped the warmth and comfort of the kitchen and bolted back into the chillier protection of her room, cursing herself for timidity all the while.

Call it a tactical withdrawal, she told herself.

Julie's expression materialised and turned concerned, but she didn't speak even whilest watching Mamori ram a chair against the door to ward off demons while she changed.

This accomplished, the young woman dropped back onto her bed and expelled her held breath in a sigh. She began to wonder whether she'd just be left to her own devices until those from the village came for her. She recognised that she was bound where she was by some kind of magic contract, but as to the strength of it she had no idea. Perhaps she could trick her own way out, but she didn't think she would have much longer to wait anyway.

And...if they didn't come...

1

"Eaten by wolves, then, you think?"

"Definitely. Definitely. No question. Young girl, roaming through those woods by herself, what else would happen?"

"Well, her younger brother seems to think there's a big old castle in those woods where she might have taken shelter. Says that's where he was when she went looking. But that's ridiculous, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Probably the shock. But you know what they say about kids these days, no grip on reality. Girl herself was as bad, always reading fairy stories."

"Still, it's a pity."

"Yup. A pity. Pretty girl, too."

"It's too bad. You up for another pint?"

"Oh, definitely. No question."

1

Mamori dismissed the momentary doubt. She was a valued member of the village and she knew her worth.

It would have been convenient if Hiruma had chosen that moment to bang on her door and distract her from her worries, but as neither he nor life arranged their schedules according to what suited Mamori, it was almost another hour before he arrived, slamming in and calling her by that objectionable nickname. She was almost – but not quite – glad to hear him. In his actual company her fears subsided and were replaced by righteous indignation, and it was strangely liberating to have a legitimate target at which to blaze.

He certainly seemed resilient enough to survive her assaults on various aspects of his character - alternatively ignoring her voice entirely to examine both the change of her clothing and Julie, who was lying as low as a wardrobe can in the corner, and listening to her unmoved, apparently waiting for her to finish.

"Two places," he interrupted eventually, holding up two fingers as though she needed visual reinforcement to get his point, "are out of bounds. One, you don't leave the grounds. Two, the East Wing is unstable. If you keep sneaking out at night and eating what the F-ing Fatty gives you, you'll fall through the floor. Got that, Manager?"

Mamori refused to feel abashed, or allow her shock to show on her face. "Does that mean I can go anywhere else?"

Hiruma shrugged. "Do what you like, F-ing Manager. Just try not to get lost."

"I see." She stepped closer, every inch a defiant inch. "Anything else I should know about? Do you have any dragons? A Minotaur?"

If he was surprised or amused by the question it didn't show in his eyes, which were focused entirely and inscrutably on hers.

"Not presently. What would you do with a Minotaur, F-ing manager?"

There was an odd note to his voice, as though the issue was not purely hypothetical. A better question, surely, thought Mamori, is what would a Minotaur do with _me_? And she knew that he knew that, and the faint hint of promise in his voice was either a threat or a taunt.

Taunt, she decided. He's not going to make any monsters to set on me. He's playing with me. I'm in his labyrinth.

"Stand up to it," she said. "Outwit it."

"Oh?" His eyes glittered and she found herself forced backwards as he took his turn to advance. "Do you fight monsters, F-ing manager?"

Fight back, she told herself. Give no more ground. You know your worth. "What else would one do with monsters?"

She was still almost nose to nose with him, confronting with hands on hips what she believed to be her monster. For a second she thought he looked annoyed, but then a huge, fanged grin flourished over his face and he backed up.

"In that case…" he gestured. There was a flare of magic, and a heart-stopping heartbeat in which she expected the minotaur to appear, or a dragon, but instead he pressed something into her hands and turned to go.

"Remember," he said. "Stay on grounds and out of the East wing."

She looked down at the object in her hands. It was a ball of twine.

"Happy hunting," he added, and vanished round the corner.

She sat back down on the bed. After a few moments she dumped the twine on the floor and kicked it angrily at the wall.

"Gah," she said expressively. She felt thoroughly ruffled, and somewhat unlike herself. For instance, she knew one of her best character traits was how sensible she was, and a sensible person would not be contemplating deliberately spiting the one who had both power over her and the capacity to misuse it. But there it was. She had already made up her mind to get into the east wing. She was sure he had been lying about _instability_.

And, she thought with unusual ferocity, if there's a monster guarding the entrance, it had just better _watch out_.

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AN:

I'm hoping everybody will get the twine bit.

Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoyed it. As for the transformation at the end - I did say loosely based. Fear not on that score.


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